


One Robin For Another

by OneWithHiccups



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Son of Batman (2014), Teen Titans (Animated Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Character Swap, Developing Friendships, Dimension Travel, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 01:56:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19347205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneWithHiccups/pseuds/OneWithHiccups
Summary: "He's out?""Still, yeah. We've got Lulu-Lemon under control, and her magic wand neutralized.""Dick." The line fizzled with the silence between them. Dick sighed; if only he could enjoy Bruce's lack of words."I know, B. But this... kid. He's gonna need first aid. First thing's first." He listened carefully. No one ever could be warned about the brutality of Batman's dead silences."Bring the staff back with you. I'll prep for it."Dick sighed; hearing the brittle tone of B's voice was never fun to navigate. "We'll get Lil' D back, B. We will.".... "Yeah. We will."----------------------------------Some Robins get switched around during a witch's poor attempt to rewrite the world.If they can make it back in one piece--and before their time runs out--maybe they'll each get to finishing what was left undone back home.





	One Robin For Another

Working for Batman required many things. One had to be agile and quick to react, ready to dodge or leap toward whatever may happen in the next moment. One needed a sharp wit at all times and the ability to focus the mind onto many tasks at once without compromise to precision. One must have the courage to run into fires, jump into mist, dive into blackened waters with the faith that ability would absolutely outweigh obstacles. 

You needed the patience for childcare and the sternness for interrogations. The eye for details and the feel of the big picture’s priorities. The stomach for violence and the heart for justice.

 

Damian had all of these things in spades. There had never been a doubt in his mind of his own Competence, Confidence, Composure, Courage--maybe his Charisma and Charity needed a bit of work--but all the things that  _ mattered _ ? Down pat.

 

So where was all of his Composure now? He had just been in such agonizing pain that he might give himself a short pass, but all that was over. The lingering sensations of being ripped apart and stitched back together into a different fabric was still pulsing across his skin, but it was done. The whirling had stopped, his eyes losing their dark spots slowly but surely to bring into view Gotham.

 

In the day, Gotham appeared as one large ghetto, ranging from sooty gray to charcoal in it’s diversity though equally filthy throughout. People seemed tired during the day, rumbling lowly among the bricks and in their little cubicles whittling away at busy work. But at  _ night _ \--even Damian could appreciate the vast array of shine sprinkled amidst the smog. Streets grew louder with the shouts of people coming back to life after their day jobs. When the wind picked up, the grime would get swept out of the sky and a little pocket of lights would hold beneath an always looming cloud cover to reflect up into. 

It was like that now, brisk and biting on the shelf of one of the highest rooftops of the city. Even as Damian struggled to his feet to check his new surroundings, the lights of the city easily revealed that he was alone. 

 

“Robin--can you hear me?”

 

Damian’s hand went to his ear as an all too familiar voice spoke with an edge of concern. He frowned and looked down to the city where his father was clearly awaiting an answer. 

“Loud and clear. Status report.”

 

The line went slack for a few moments as the gears in his father’s head undoubtedly spun about. Surely, it was strange that he had been hurled across the city so suddenly and without a broken bone to speak for it, but there were more important things to hear about. How was Raven after the hit she’d taken? Had that weird Lemon lady been defeated? What of the weapon--and why did it transport him here? And  _ what _ was the hold-up on Batman’s status report?

 

“Batman,” Damian snapped, all patience lost. “Status. What’s happening over there?” 

 

“... Who am I speaking to?” 

 

Now it was Damian’s turn to pause. It occurred to him that Father sounded strange, yet undoubtedly it was his timbre and curl of tongue. His mind raced to regain footing. Could it be-?

 

Below, far below, several blaring car horns sounded and echoed up between the buildings. He saw a large black van careening around a corner just below his position. Ah, now that couldn’t be a coincidence.

 

He plucked his grappling gun from his side. “Batman--I have eyes on a black Ford van, northbound on Lex street.” He leapt from the building long before shooting, waiting until the swing arc would bring him low by the street. “In pursuit.”

 

“En route to intercept.” Father’s voice was still tight, uncertain but unable to change the flow of things as they were. He could handle that. Besides, the immediate reaction meant that this was top priority. Something was awry.

 

Plopping onto the top of the van, Damian kept a tight grip on the metal surface even as he clipped his grappling hook back to his hip and even as the driver jerked toward oncoming traffic to try and shake him.  

Damian fought a smirk and restabilized himself with his back foot, then regripped on the edge of the roof to cling to the van’s side just as the blast of a gun punched a hole through the roof. Grabbing onto the door handle for extra stability as the van swerved back into its own lane, Damian glared into the side mirror at a rough-edged musclehead. The man glared back, leaning over to shoot.

 

The glass of the front window cracked with one batarang, then a second one broke through to cut the man’s gun-toting hand. A blast still rang out before the gun’s ricochet sent it flying, glass of the side door window shattering in both of their faces. 

Damian gave the man a left-handed suckerpunch as a massive black shadow slammed heavily onto the car’s hood.

 

Now, Batman’s whole shtick was fear, and he did it through brute force much of the time. Yes, he had this “scary” symbol and stuck to the shadows and played with a deep voice, but ultimately his intimidation centered on his dominance in a fight. Fists ablaze and not a sound to be made.

But oh, this thing sitting on the hood was wielding something else. The dark of his cape contrasted with the lights of the car’s front and all around made him appear as a black hole, impenetrable and seemingly unmovable by the inertia of the car. Where muscle would normally make his statements for him, the cape cloaked him in such a way that there was really no telling what was beneath it--made it scarier, that was for sure. He looked thinner than Damian remembered, dangerous as the edge of a knife. The kicker was that glare which could not be fully seen, implied by an angled head and  _ truly _ he looked otherworldly. 

This thing, this  _ Batman, _ was intimidating and threatening and lethal simply by suggestion.

 

And  _ oh man _ , did the guys in that van freeze. Damian found himself grinning again, pleased with the fear that rippled through the air. He reached in to grab the steering wheel with one hand just as Batman’s arm broke through the windshield and yanked the man forward and out to be dropped on the dotted yellow line. 

 

Damian held to the driver’s side handle and swung into the newly vacated seat. Left hand on the wheel, left foot to the floor, right foot in the jaw of the angry armed passenger, right hand clenched and ready to reach between his legs for the emergency brake. 

 

“Robin,” Batman snapped, giving him a glance-over before jumping to the roof of the car, narrowly avoiding another shot from the passenger--who still had Damian’s boot in his face. “Unstable cargo. And a caravan in pursuit.”

 

Damian humphed as he took a look at the rearview mirror and saw at least two sets of headlights gaining fast. Both hands on the wheel, Damian gave another kick to the man’s jaw--dislocated for sure--and retreated as yet another phantom arm came in through the side to yank the man out. 

 

“ _ Tt _ . I had him,” Damian grumbled as he honked the horn to get some pedestrians to pay attention before they got themselves flattened. 

 

No response from Batman. Hm. By the time they reached the next intersection, Father’s huge shadow returned to his own door and pressured him aside without even a word.    
  


“I can drive.” Damian glared, glancing to the rear mirror to watch their previous pursuit lag behind in a pile of steam. Busted in one way or another.

 

“Move.” Again, that voice was definitely Father’s but  _ no _ , it wasn’t the same. 

 

Damian scooted over--ugh, where had his tenacity gone?--and immediately crossed his arms, still glancing in the rear-view. “So what’s in the back?” Whatever it was had a tarp and practically no light to illuminate it. “Also,  _ where’s _ my status report I asked for five minutes ago?”

 

“In the cave.” 

 

Damian gave a sideways glare, jaw clenching tight now. Father could likely see the dissent forming in his mouth. 

 

“We’ll talk then.” His words were short, bitter, guarded. 

 

“ _ Tt _ .” He turned back to his own broken window and fiddled with the edges of his cape. 

 

To the police station, then to the rooftops, then to the batmobile,  _ then _ to the cave. Damian kept his mouth shut the whole time, quickly putting together the pieces. Gordon wasn’t even graying and nearly two-thirds of the GCPD were total strangers. Instead of a long chat with Gordon for a proper briefing, they dropped off the van and fled to the shadows and watched to ensure it was processed. Their return to the batmobile was silent, and even on arrival Damian was surprised at the entirely new make of their car. At least the ride back home was the normal route. 

 

Father had one hand tucked to his side a few times, no doubt contacting someone in secret. Alfred? Likely. If there was only one thing constant across time and space, it was Pennyworth.

 

By the time they’d reached the outskirts of the city, Damian was quite finished with silence. “Is this not an adequate place for discussion? Or are you still fiddling with who I am and where Grayson went?”

 

Father’s grip on the wheel tightened and twisted just slightly, though he gave nothing else away. “You know him.” 

 

Damian tightened his crossed arms, quickly bored of this. “I do. He’s my mentor. More than you, that’s for sure.” 

 

“More than me.” Batman was testing the words in his mouth. They were now edging the final turn toward the cave’s entrance.

 

“Certainly. And I suspect he and I were swapped for one another--perhaps across time or dimension. That’s still unclear. I’d just been… been fighting…” Damian’s eloquence was lost as his head suddenly spiked with a ripple of pain. Just a taste of what he’d been through just before awakening on the rooftop, but he couldn’t see from it, couldn’t  _ think _ \-- 

 

Father was shouting something, and he faintly felt himself shudder violently as he keeled forward. Distantly, he felt the engine rev in a roar, then everything muffled into darkness.


End file.
